


Die For You

by midnightflame



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Sex, Kissing, M/M, Mild Painplay, Minor Injuries, There's nothing like battle to make you hot and bothered, Valentine's Day, this has very little plot sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 13:57:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9747317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightflame/pseuds/midnightflame
Summary: “Just how often do you plan on dying for me?”Eyelids fall to half-mast, still locked on Keith’s. And in that moment, Shiro feels his heartbeat drumming, a call to arms, and his breath rises rapid, spilling over his lips in one low exhale. He kisses Keith, slow and precise, never once letting his gaze deviate.“Every night. . .”





	

**Author's Note:**

> I did not think i would get around to anything at all for Valentine's Day for these two given my work schedule, but hey I had an hour! So, this is brought to you by "#1 Crush" by Garbage, Death, some Tempranillo Merlot, and all the love Sheith should have on this wonderful day of love. Enjoy!
> 
> (And if you need a short lesson on the idea of death, please wiki "la petit mort")

His back hits the wall with a soul-jarring _thud_ , but none of it matters.

Nothing matters. 

Because Keith’s hands are slipping beneath his shirt, fingers skirting scars and bruises alike, his lips hot against his mouth, and his eyes bright with all the heart-stopping clarity of a man who knows precisely what he wants and how to get it. That’s always been the thing about Keith – there’s a fire that burns in his gaze that threatens to take the whole world with it, and Shiro can’t find any excuse not to go down with it as well. 

Not in moments like this. 

His hands rise to cup Keith’s neck, to pull himself closer as lips part and tongues slide against one another, searing the words neither of them seems capable of speaking onto the other. Shiro imagines that's how they would taste regardless, sweat-slick with the faint coppery hint of blood, everything effort would have of them, right down to the very marrow of their beings. 

Flesh. Blood. Soul. 

There isn’t anything he wouldn’t give. 

Keith bites at his lower lip, drawing it beneath his teeth and tugging ever so slightly. Just enough to put the ache into his groin and a flash of flames in his gaze. That very lick of fire that tells Keith he knows just how beautifully it could all burn, how willingly he would step into hell if it meant _to have and to hold_.

God fucking amen. 

Fingertips skate across his chest, drifting light and teasing along skin. Circle around a nipple, flick over it, retreating lower. Shiro moans softly against Keith’s mouth, his eyes locking with the blue-grey staring into him. It’s like looking up into the depths of the galaxy, studded with hopes and dreams, flickering bright against the dark as stars always tend to do, promising world beyond worlds. 

And some days, Shiro swears Keith is everything. If fire was the creation of the soul, then Keith had laid claim to his years ago, with a crash landing in the desert and a world of memory between them. 

He dips his head low, taking Keith’s mouth with his and drawing the sweetest little whine from his lips in the act of it. Fingernails dig into his chest. Shiro hisses against Keith’s lips, and with it, he can feel the smile as it carves itself into being over Keith's mouth. 

“Tell me you didn’t like that,” Keith murmurs, low and hot and undeniably wanting.

Shiro feels his lips respond in kind, curving slow and deliberate, against the smile already claiming Keith.

“It felt good,” he confirms, earning him a slow rake of nails along his skin, dragging with full-bodied intention from the center of his chest down towards his navel. 

“I can tell,” Keith replies, smile still clinging to his lips as he shifts his leg, bringing his knee up to rub against Shiro’s inner thigh. Just enough to remind Shiro that he is hard and needing and thoroughly at the mercy of the young man pressing him against the wall of his room. 

A prisoner made and taken. And whether in love or war, Shiro knows that once you have fallen - completely and thoroughly fallen, all heart there on the floor, beating its very last for the cause held so great - there is no point in getting back up. Let death come, kind and quiet as it might. 

Or hard and fast and claiming every ounce of his soul as it would, as he imagines Keith would do if Shiro simply let him have his way.

Shiro inhales sharply. Keith leans back in, letting his lips brush against Shiro’s with a breath, soft and warm.

“Just how often do you plan on dying for me?”

Eyelids fall to half-mast, still locked on Keith’s. And at that moment, Shiro feels his heartbeat drumming, a call to arms, and his breath rises rapid, spilling over his lips in one low exhale. He kisses Keith, slow and precise, never once letting his gaze deviate.

“Every night. . .”

*

The world echoes with devastation. Shiro can hear the blasts from Galra gunships cutting into the dirt below, spraying rock across the planet’s surface and pelting the Red Lion with harsh metallic shrieks. It doesn’t move, remaining listless on its side, a wounded beast.

“Keith! Answer me!”

Static bubbles, sharp and nauseating, through the headset. Shiro redirects the Black Lion, cutting through two low flying fighter ships, small but easy targets nonetheless. The transmission crackles with silence, then seconds later, Keith’s voice cuts across the interference. 

“I’m here. We’re. . .okay. . .” he breathes out. A bit too harshly for Shiro’s liking.

“Thank God. Just stay put! We’ll come and help –“

“No! Shiro, you have to go to the others. . .” Keith interrupts, sounding far more certain than Shiro wants to believe.

“Keith, I can –“

“No, you can’t. You’re our leader, Shiro,” Keith says, quiet, stalwart. And Shiro knows he’s hit a concrete wall with that tone, reminding him of his place, of all the things he has yet to do. And it puts the lead right into his heart, like the truth so often does. “They need you more than I do, so go.”

*

The intercom to the room bursts with static.

“Shiro. . .you need to get those wounds looked at. . .” 

A voice, stubborn but concerned. Shiro faintly registers it all, has to lick his lips before he can find the words on his tongue.

“Keith has it. . .” he mumbles, eyes squeezing shut as he tries to steady his voice. “It’s. . .it’s fine. . .” 

A soft moan breaks over his lips, and Shiro has half a mind to start cursing only he knows the channel is still open, still waiting to betray him at any second. 

“Shiro, is everything okay?!” Again with the concern, and it almost makes him feel sorry. Only. . .only. . . _fuck everything_. “Does Keith even know what he’s doing. . .?”

“God, yes. . .” Shiro bites back, as his gaze drifts low and meets Keith’s, with its hellfire and its desire and everything that makes him believe there are some things worth bleeding out for. “He. . has a perfectly good hand on it. . .I’m fine, Allura. . .”

“Are you sure?” she asks, disbelief coating the question.

“Without a doubt,” Shiro shoots back, rapid fire. Because he has never been more certain in his life.

Seconds later, the intercom falls silent, a hard _click_ resounding as the call is dropped. 

Shiro tips his head back against the wall, mouthing the bare whisper of _I hate you_ before a low moan escapes. 

Keith smiles up at him, setting lips against Shiro’s throat as fingers continue to stroke up and down the length of his cock. Slowly, achingly jerking him off to the beat of his heart.

“Clearly not enough,” he murmurs against skin. And Shiro imagines the devil does exist, and his best work is done through Keith’s hands, and his lips, and the look that burns wild as a conflagration in his gaze telling him that fire is far better than ice if one were to choose a way to die.

*

There is nothing that will stop him. He can see Keith just yards away, with blood burning bright crimson across his skin, and his lips pulled back in a savage snarl. Like a tiger, ferocious and stunning, as it fights for every last breath, every last step, every right owed to it on this earth. And Shiro finds no pity for the soldiers he is cutting down, only a quiet calming relief that he is one step closer to the center of his world.

And as the blood runs hot through his veins, and as Keith cries out with every strike, Shiro knows there is nothing that would ever stop him from treading this course. Put him here, again and again, and he would make the same decision, over and over. 

As promised, Keith had held his own. 

And there are dents in his armor from hits withstood, but certain to leave their marks on skin beneath. There is sweat, clear and slick, over his brow, testimony to the effort put forth just to keep himself standing. There is precision in every step he takes, and wildfire in every strike of his sword. 

Shiro thinks that Keith is war itself. Not the militarized, practiced routine of it that they drill into men, but the innate survival bred version that drives men to greatness. The sort that sits ingrained in a soul, knowing nothing other than to fight and to win. To make itself known. 

And it is breathtaking. 

When his gaze finally meets Keith’s, as the last body falls, Shiro knows that nothing of heaven or hell would ever keep Keith from everything he has ever wanted. And it puts the ache right into his core, stirring up desires Shiro knows have no right belonging on this field of chaos but exist nonetheless because Keith is every bit of heart and soul that Shiro has come to love.

*

Bruises litter Keith’s skin. They sit dark and foreboding, splashed across his ribs, over his hip, down his shoulder. And he wears them like the very proof of his existence, proud and unashamed, and when Shiro runs his fingers over them, Keith smiles, with lips barely parting, begging for a moan.

Shiro lets his fingertips explore the jagged edge of one, glaring black in the dim lighting of his room. Above him, Keith watches, still as a lake at midnight, deep and dark. His thumb traces along the outside edges, slowly circling in towards Keith’s left hip. The breath holds heavy in his lungs, pressing against his heart, and when his eyes meet Keith’s, Keith begins to move, pulling the air right out of his chest. He rises slow and easy, letting Shiro’s cock slide away from him until only the very tip is buried within him. Shiro feels his grip go anchor-tight against Keith’s hip, earning him a sharp hiss, followed by the grinding of teeth. His lips part, tongue dipping to wet his lower lip.

Keith keeps his gaze trained on Shiro’s, watching for every little bit of betrayal, as he lowers himself back down against Shiro’s cock. Down, down down, drawing out the seconds to their last possible breath, until he is sitting flush against Shiro’s thighs, can feel his balls just beneath his ass. And there he pulses, up and down, just the barest play of movement, until Shiro is left gritting his teeth and putting the imprint of his thumb against a hip already etched with pain. 

When Shiro lets his head fall back to the pillow, it’s with a hollow breath. “ _Fuck_ , Keith. . .”

Keith gives him a small smile, wicked incarnate. 

“You said you would come back for me. . .” he murmurs, breathless, as he grinds back down against Shiro’s cock, as he lowers himself from the waist up to place his lips on Shiro’s chest. “And you did come. . .”

Teeth set sharp to skin, centered over the bruise flourishing across Shiro’s chest, just over his heart. And beneath, its rhythm stumbles and falls, shaken right to its core. As it gathers itself into some semblance of a life-giving pace, Shiro pushes himself up onto his elbows, reaches out to draw Keith to him.

“Keep this up, and I’ll be doing that again,” he whispers against lips, shameless. Because Keith disassembles him so marvelously in these moments, and there is nothing of soldierly regulation or expectation here. In these moments, he gets to burn fully human. 

Keith smiles wider, pulling a kiss from Shiro’s lips before pushing himself away. And there, he begins to move in earnest, rising with his hips until once again Shiro can see almost the entire length of his cock before Keith lowers himself, taking him in full. Again and again, pace slowly increasing, breath quickening. Keith’s mouth is open, making way for soft moans, spilling over his lips in pieces, and as much as Shiro wants to sink back into the mattress and let his eyes fall shut, he can’t tear himself away from the sight. Not as Keith rides him, remorseless, reckless at times, driving down hard and fast against his cock like there may be no tomorrow, and the truth is that there might not be. Not with the lives that they lead, and so when Keith grinds down, Shiro watches, captivated. 

Watches until he can barely breathe. The air coils tight in his lungs, parting from him with hard pants through lips held ajar. And Keith looks exquisite above him, dark hair plastered against his forehead, his cheeks, his eyes burning bright as a sunrise, his body marked by every hit he has taken, by every bite Shiro has given. 

When Keith spills across his stomach, Shiro finally relents. His head falls back against the pillow as his fingers spread over Keith’s hips and he drives himself up to meet every thrust back down against him until he is coming. Hard and fast, always with Keith’s name upon his lips, the only prayer he has ever found worth citing. 

The rocking of Keith’s hips eventually slows until he is still against Shiro, cock buried deep within and satisfaction searing its way through their muscles. Keith is smiling, this lazy sated thing that puts the flutter right into Shiro’s heart and makes him reconsider everything right and reasonable within this world. 

Because there has never been anything more right than these moments with Keith, where everything razes itself right to the grounds of all that they are.

With one heavy exhale, Shiro pushes himself up from the mattress. He brings his right hand up, letting fingers ghost along the lines of Keith’s jugular, skirt along the edge of his jaw, then disappear into the black of his hair completely. And then, he leans in and brushes his lips against Keith’s, with the barest pull of a smile to his lips. 

“So if this is Valentine’s day, what do I get for my birthday?”


End file.
